


The Wolf's First Nature

by Llama1412



Series: Families of Choice [10]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood Friends, First Meetings, Gen, Healing, Magic, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-23
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24341599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Mousesack meets Geralt when they are both 8 years old, in the Druid Circle in Skellige. Somehow, this affects the entire rest of Mousesack's life.
Relationships: Ermion | Mousesack & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Families of Choice [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1660492
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the Families of Choice series, but can be read as a standalone. Includes events that are referenced in Chapter 6 of Tales of Cintra (i.e. Mousesack and Geralt meeting as kids).

A visitor was coming to the druid circle in Ard Skellige. It was all anyone could talk about. Druids were tied to the land – they were not known for being nomadic, though they certainly weren’t  _ confined _ to the land they were born on. Still, it was unusual to have a visitor, and Mousesack was excited to see who they might be.

In all likelihood, whoever it was would be wholly uninteresting to the seven year old. Nonetheless, he was excited that  _ something _ would be happening around here. 

Nature was great and all, but there wasn’t a whole lot to keep him entertained. Not when he wasn’t old enough for magic yet and he wasn’t allowed to tear off tree branches to playfight.

Not that he would. Mousesack respected nature. He might not understand how to pull magic from nature yet, but he knew that respect was important. Nature allowed them to survive, after all.

But it was so boring.

Unfortunately, when the visitor had finally arrived, Mousesack had been busy with his chores and hadn’t even gotten to see them! He discovered this when he brought the fresh to his mother’s hut and found everyone around the village gossiping with each other as he passed.

Mousesack picked up speed, near running into his home. “Ma, did I miss it? Is the visitor here?” He thunked the bucket down next to their firepit and looked around for his mother. “Ma?”

“Oh, Mousesack, there you are!” His mother’s voice from the doorway startled him, and he turned around to look up at her. “Come with me, sweetheart. We’re going to host our visitor as guest while he’s here.”

Mousesack nearly tripped over the hem of his robe as he scrambled to follow behind her. “Who is he?”

“His mother is a druid in Mayena,” Mousesack’s mother said. “She apparently had other business, but the boy will be staying with us for a few weeks.”

“Why are we taking him?” Not that Mousesack actually minded. It should at least make things interesting. 

“You’re the closest to his age,” his mother shrugged. “And we have the room.”  _ Since your father left,  _ she didn’t say. She didn’t need to. Mousesack’s father leaving had been all anyone in the village talked about for three seasons. They still whispered about it now, he knew, though the visitor had redirected their attention.

Mousesack didn’t like to think about it. He still couldn’t understand why his father had left at all, still couldn’t understand what he’d done wrong.

He was distracted from his thoughts when they ducked into the main building and one of the elders called out for his mother. He was standing next to a young boy with curly brown hair and drab clothes that really weren’t warm enough for Skellige, even if it was summer.

“Hello,” his mother knelt in front of the boy. “I’m Manissa. You’ll be staying with me and my son, Mousesack, while you’re here.”

The boy grinned openly at her. “Cool. I’m Geralt. Like garroter! Did you know you can make a garrote out of almost anything! As long as it’s long and strong! Like, I bet I could use your hose!”

Mousesack’s mother’s face crinkled in distaste – likely over using a weapon as a conversation starter. He, on the other hand, thought that was, “so cool!” Mousesack bounced on his feet, approaching Geralt. “I don’t know anything about garroters, but I can show you were all the cool frogs can be found along the river.”

Geralt turned his smile to Mousesack, oblivious to Manissa’s disgust. “Deal!” He said, clasping Mousesack’s hand and shaking it. 

His mother sighed. “Be back before dinner.”

“We will!” Mousesack grabbed Geralt’s hand and tugged him out to into the forest. “The river is just through here.” Since Mousesack still had Geralt’s had in his, he started swinging it. “So how come you’re here?”

Geralt shrugged. “We started traveling a lot lately. I don’t know why. Usually I go with Ma, but she left me here this time.”

“Well, I’m glad. You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened around here for  _ ages.”  _ They grinned at each other. 

When they reached the river, Mousesack pulled Geralt to follow him to the shallow rocks. “Frogs don’t actually swim in rivers,” Mousesack shared, “but they like to sit on the rocks in summer.”

“Frogs are cool.” Geralt let go of Mousesack’s hand to sit down by the river and Mousesack followed suit, searching the rocks. 

He spotted a speckled frog and made a grab for it. Prize in hand, he turned to Geralt with a grin. “See?”

“Awesome!” Geralt poked at the frog and they both laughed when it let out a  _ ribbet _ in response.

––

By the time Geralt left Skellige, the two boys were inseparable. Geralt was forever talking about the world and asking questions and seeking answers. It made Mousesack want to go discover the world some day.

He would have time, after all. Druids aged very, very slowly, and Mousesack hated being bored.

The downside of having made good friends with someone from the continent was that now that Geralt wasn’t living with him, Mousesack had to wait  _ forever _ to talk to him. They started writing each other letters, and Mousesack found his handwriting slowly improving. Geralt’s did  _ not _ improve, but Mousesack had figured out how to interpret his chicken scratch early on.

So when Mousesack’s latest letter received no response after two weeks, he figured maybe the letter delivery was just taking a long time. At three weeks, he thought maybe Geralt was taking his time drafting his response – after all, the boy was constantly distracted by new and interesting questions about the world.

After a month, Mousesack started to worry. He sent another letter, just in case his first one had been lost.

He tried to put it out of his head. He really did. Mousesack had friends here in Skellige, and even though he and Geralt had gotten on amazingly well, they truly hadn’t know each other that long. Maybe Geralt just got tired of writing to him?

His handwriting was truly awful. It probably required a lot of thought and concentration that the other just wasn’t good at.

If that was the case, Mousesack would bombard Geralt with letters until he was  _ forced _ to respond. He nodded to himself, decision made, and set off to find more paper. He would need lots.

After his sixth letter, he finally got a response. When the delivery came, Mousesack was bouncing on his toes, teeth digging into his lip. He ripped the letter open, eager for whatever Geralt’s excuse would be.

Only it wasn’t Geralt’s handwriting that had responded.

_ Mousesack,  _ the letter read  _ I am sorry to have to tell you this. Geralt is gone. I know you were a good friend to him and he cared about you a great deal. I’m sorry. _

And that was all. Not even signed!

Mousesack felt numb. It couldn’t be true. Geralt couldn’t be gone.

The letter fell from his numb hands and Mousesack found himself running out into the forest, tears forming in his eyes.

At 8 years old, he was supposed to be too old to cry. But the trees wouldn’t tell on him as he watered the ground with salty tears. He curled up in the shelter of a massive tree’s roots and cried until he fell into an uneasy sleep.

––

_ The dream started with a tree. This wasn’t uncommon for druids – much of their lives revolved around trees. But this tree was glowing, exuding trails of pink and purple light. Mousesack stared up at it, mouth open. _

_ “Ermion, Advisor of the Violet Flame,” whispers from all around him said, and Mousesack flinched. _

_ “Who are you? What do you want?” _

_ “It is what you want, child,” the whispers said. “You are here because you called to us.” _

_ “Who are you?”  _

_ “We are called many names, but you have not heard them. We are the Heart of Chaos, the Magic in Nature, the Source of all things.”  _

_ Mousesack frowned. “You’re...what gives us magic?” _

_ “We  _ are _ magic,” the whispers said. “That is why you have called to us. You are reaching for magic for the first time. Without a guide, you may do great damage – to yourself, or to your Source.” _

_ “What’s a source?” Since it sounded like he was going to be here a while, Mousesack plopped himself down into the sand the tree was somehow growing in, which made no sense. Druids  _ knew _ nature. Sand and trees didn’t go together. _

_ “A Source lets you access Chaos to perform magic.” The whispers felt like they were right beside him and Mousesack felt a shiver go up his spine. “Your teachers won’t call is Chaos. But knowing that it is will be important for you.” _

_ “It will?” Mousesack blinked. “What is Chaos?” _

_ “Chaos is power. It is everywhere in all things. When you perform magic, you use a Source to draw from Chaos. In payment, Chaos replenishes itself with your own energy. That is the Balance.” _

_ Mousesack frowned. This all sounded extremely complicated, and he hadn’t even started his magic training.  _

_ And it was hard to care about magic when all he could think of was how excited Geralt was by the idea, how Geralt hoped that he had magic like his mother so that he could perform wonderful illusions.  _

_ How could Geralt be gone? _

_ Mousesack hadn’t noticed he’d begun to cry again until he felt something warm against his cheek. It wasn’t a touch, exactly. It was more as if the air right next to his cheek had warmed. Mousesack opened his eyes to see that the Tree had reached out a tendril of energy. _

_ “Do not fear, child. Your Destinies are entwined. You will see him again.” The whispers were almost soft in his ear. _

_ “I – I will?” Mousesack scrubbed at his cheeks. “You promise? Geralt’s alive?” _

_ “The White Wolf has many trials left before him. He will be changed when you next meet, but you shall meet.” The tendril of pink light twirled around Mousesack and he felt that warm not-quite-touch against his forehead. “Sleep, child. Sleep easy and know your friend lives.” _

_ Mousesack’s eyes grew heavy and he started to slump where he was sitting. Then he closed his eyes and was aware of no more. _


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mousesack starts to learn magic.

When Mousesack was ten, he finally got to begin his magical training. Well, technically the first lesson wasn’t training, it was a test. All druids could use magic, if taught properly, but every person responded differently to it. Only those who wanted to would continue.

He wanted to.

“The most important thing to understand about magic,” the instructor said. He was a broad shouldered older man named Michal with a long, dark beard and a voice that seemed to resonate power. The chattering around the forest clearing ceased as all the students came to attention. “– is that all magic has a cost. You will not know what the cost is before experiencing it. This is why we have a test.” Michal paced in front of them. “Nature gives us the ability to use magic. But to do so, we must pay the cost. Because we pull from nature, the nature around us pays the price. We give nature our energy in exchange.”

His steely eyes slowly met every student’s gaze. “This is why is it a druid’s sacred duty to care for nature. We exist in a cycle together. Nature allows us to survive and access power, and we nurture it in turn. However, if we take too much power, we will destroy the nature around us – and possibly ourselves. _That_ is the cost of magic. Do you understand?”

Mousesack had never heard a group of twenty ten-year-olds be so quiet. Shifting his weight, he debated speaking up. He kind of did get it. It was like his vision said. Or at least, he was pretty sure.

Mousesack had etched every second of the vision into his memory. It was the only proof he had that his friend was still alive and he clung to it, always keeping it in the back of his mind. He remembered all of it.

But the Tree – the embodiment of magic, whatever. It looked like a tree – had used some really big words, and Mousesack worried sometimes that he remembered the ones he hadn’t known wrong. Still, he thought what Michal said made sense. He bit his lip and looked around him. He didn’t want to be the only one to respond.

But it would seem he had little choice, because Michal had spotted him looking around. “Mousesack,” he called. “You have a question?”

He didn’t, actually. Everyone turned to look at him and he could feel his face growing red. “What –” his voice squeaked, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “What about Chaos? What’s that?”

Michal scoffed loudly, and Mousesack shrank back. _“Chaos_ is the magic the mages of the continent use, and no druid with any respect will ever sink to their level.” Mousesack’s ducked his head, shoulders around his ears. “Mages use magic carelessly and thoughtlessly, without any respect for the _cost._ Yes, they are powerful. Their magic is impressive. But the bigger the magic, the bigger the cost. There is a _reason_ druids stick with small magics – tricks and illusions only. Unlike mages, we _respect_ our magic.”

When Michal focused his gaze on Mousesack again, the boy nodded furiously. He highly regretted ever speaking up at all.

Now he knew better.

––

As he grew up, Mousesack developed a reputation for being quiet and bookish. His mother worried over him, fussing over “the way you used to run around and chatter so much.”

“That was with Geralt.” Mousesack said. He had also developed a reputation for stubbornly refusing to believe that his friend was dead. At first, the villagers had been sympathetic. Any boy who was unprepared to face death would deny it, after all. He would learn to accept it eventually, they thought.

But Mousesack _knew_ with everything in him that his vision had been real, that Geralt was alive. He’d tried to tell his mother and his teachers about his vision, but no one believed him.

So he learned not to tell them. Talking wasn’t as much fun without Geralt’s voice snapping out a rejoinder anyway. And Mousesack had always been good at writing – he was the one who had suggested writing letters in the first place. So when the villagers got tired of his stubbornness, Mousesack hid in his books and wrote. He wrote a lot – he had discovered that writing about what he was studying helped him remember it better, and if he was writing anyway, it only made since to expound on his own opinions.

His opinions were rather the problem right now, as several of the elders stared him down, and his old magic teacher, Michal, held Mousesack’s writings on magic in his hand. “You dare – you _dare_ imply that we are like those greedy, hedonistic mages! Did nothing I taught you penetrate that thick skull!? Druids _respect_ nature! Our entire culture is based on this one tenet! And you _dare_ suggest that we use nature as carelessly as mages use their magic!?”

“Michal,” Mousesack’s mother raised both hands in a placating gesture, “I’m sure he didn’t mean it. Those are just silly thoughts in his study notes.”

“Manissa,” one of the elders spoke up. “We appreciate that you wish to protect your son. But he is an adult now, and he literally called it _A Treatise on Magic and Druids: Why We Should Use Chaos.”_

His mother gave him a _look_ and Mousesack shrugged. He knew that his vision was true, even if no one had ever believed him. The Tree, the embodiment of magic, had told him that he would meet Geralt again and that Chaos and the source of the druid’s magic were the same.

And if they were the same, then the druids’ understanding of magic was wrong. Because if they were the same, then they should be able to perform the same kinds of magics that mages did, _without_ destroying nature.

Why did everyone insist on ignoring the ‘without’? He’d put it there for a reason.

“I _do_ respect nature,” Mousesack said and all eyes turned to him. He’d discovered years ago that one of the side effects of speaking rarely was that people _listened_ when you spoke. “But we are limiting ourselves for no reason! We should be pushing boundaries and discovering the extent of our magic, not cowering behind fear!”

His mother gasped and drew away from him, and in retrospect, accusing the elders of cowardice was perhaps not his best move. Every person in the room seemed to glare at him, and Mousesack swallowed, but he refused to give in. He would not be like these elders and live his life in fear of breaking a few branches. Destruction was part of nature too, and often, nature grew back even stronger.

Mousesack wanted to be stronger. “If the druid circle refuses to accept that there may be things we don’t know about magic, then I will find somewhere that _will.”_

“If you leave,” one of the elders said, “you are unlikely to receive a warm welcome should you ever return.”

Mousesack snorted. “I don’t get one now.” He smiled at his mother, who was shaking her head, tears welling up. “I’m 18, Ma. It’s time I went out to see the world.” He smiled at her, ignoring everyone else in the room, and hugged her tight. “It’ll be okay,” he whispered. “It’s time for me to go find Geralt anyway.”

Manissa shook her head despairingly, but that was all right. Mousesack didn’t need her to believe him. He would find Geralt on his own.

And he would figure out the secrets of magic, too.

Since this would be his last time seeing these people, Mousesack let the part of himself that had always wanted to turn around and say, “Adieu, fuckers” while tapping two fingers to his head in a sloppy salute. 

It felt good. And now the entire world lay at his feet. He thought he might start with Toussaint – he’d been learning their language, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mousesack ventures across the continent

So, turned out, people on the continent expected everyone to have a continent name. Mousesack didn’t understand what was so hard to pronounce about his name – just two syllables, combining two words the continent definitely used! – but after experiencing inventive butchering in each of the first three towns he visited, he decided enough was enough. So the next village he came across, he used a continent name, Ermion. It was somehow so much easier for the continentals to pronounce. Mousesack was not impressed.

On his way to Toussaint – across the continent, so maybe not the best choice for his start, but oh well – he stopped in every village and asked if they had any magic users. Mousesack didn’t have a way to search for Geralt, but he could start his research on magic. He could start learning how other magic users thought about magic.

That was how he met Visenna. She was a druid, but she traveled as a healer, and Mousesack ran into her when he was crossing the Yaruga river at Sodden Hill. She had been summoned to heal a townsperson’s broken leg and had just finished up when Mousesack rode into town, asking about magic users.

He waited outside the building the gatekeeper had indicated, and when a woman with long red hair emerged, Mousesack rose and smiled. “Hello! My name is Ermion. If you have time, I’d like to ask you a few questions about magic.”

Her eyebrow rose, but she nodded to him. “I am Visenna. I must head back towards Mayena, but if you care to accompany me on the road, you may ask any questions you wish.”

Mousesack grinned. “That would be wonderful. I’m from the druid circle in Skellige and I’m trying to understand magic from the perspective of all magic users.”

Visenna chuckled. “What an unusual area of study. But I don’t know that I will be able to tell you much. I’m from the druid circle in Mayena. We would be delighted to host one of our Islander cousins.”

Mousesack’s smile turned awkward. He was still a druid, and he had no intention of hiding that. But he wasn’t really sure how other druids would react to his current standing with Skellige’s circle – namely, that he had essentially been outcast, even if it was mostly of his own volition. But it might be valuable to learn if these continental druids were any different.

Besides, “Mayena?” Mousesack asked. “I had a friend, years ago, who was from the circle in Mayena. I don’t suppose you happened to know Geralt?”

There was an odd hitch in Visenna’s movement, but she tucked her supplies into the saddlebag on her roan mare and mounted quickly. “Geralt? No, I’m afraid not, sorry.”

Mousesack’s lips twisted as he mounted his own steed. “I suppose it was a longshot. But maybe someone in your circle will remember him!”

“Ah. Yes, I suppose.” Visenna rode just far enough in front of him that Mousesack couldn’t see her expression, but her voice sounded oddly tight. Had Mousesack somehow offended her by asking?

If so, she never told him how, and her posture seemed to ease as they turned to other topics of conversation. Mousesack knew the basics of herb healing – druids learned about  _ all  _ plants – but he knew very little about magical healing.

“How does it work?”

Visenna frowned and tried to explain. “Magic is energy. So healing another is like – like feeling which energies are out of alignments and working to put them back. It’s hard to explain.”

“Hmm, I think maybe I get it? But how can you see the energy. Isn’t magic invisible?”

Visenna shook her head. “You can learn to see it in people, you just have to let magic guide your hands. I don’t know if I can explain it better than that, but I can show you how to try when we get to Mayena, if you like.”

“Please!” Mousesack nodded eagerly. “I want to learn everything about magic. I can’t understand why so many people don’t.”

She shrugged. “Sometimes we are content with the world we are given. And sometimes we thirst for something that we must find ourselves.”

“Hmm,” Mousesack hummed. He was indeed searching for something he could only find himself. Some _ one _ he could only find himself.

_ I’m looking for you, Geralt. So you have to be all right. You have to be. _

––

No one in Mayena was willing to talk about Geralt. Not a single person, and at least some of them  _ must _ have been here a decade ago when Geralt was. But no one would talk.

Mousesack didn’t like it. He also didn’t like the way the Mayena Circle elders looked down their nose at the idea of a traveling druid doing research.

“Don’t worry,” Visenna told him.They were in Visenna’s hut, and Mousesack was pacing in front of her. “They don’t like that I travel either, but they also wouldn’t have anyone to pick up their trade supplies along the Riverdell if I didn’t.”

“I just don’t understand why people think our connection to nature is so limited!” Mousesack threw his hands in the air. “There’s no reason to think distance affects our connection at all! And the limitations on magic! What’s the point of having it if we’re never allowed to use it!?” He sighed and looked at Visenna. “At least as a healer, no one doubts the need for your magic.”

“So become a healer, too.” She offered. “Come, I will teach you.” She offered her hand, palm up, to her. Mousesack just stared and she rolled her eyes. “Take my hand. Hold it between yours and  _ focus.  _ Let’s find out if you can see the energy in people.”

“Just...focus?” He asked dubiously, but he dropped into the seat across from her at the table and cupped her hand. 

“Take a deep breath and close your eyes. And then just –  _ feel.” _ Visenna said.

Mousesack inhaled, wondering what it meant to  _ feel.  _ Feel what? He could feel the weight of her hand in his, rough with calluses from grinding remedies. He could feel the still air in the hut, the way his stomach grumbled silently, the slight ache in his neck from the tension in his shoulders. He breathed in deeply again, consciously relaxing his muscles, trying to feel further, though he wasn’t sure for what. He could feel the slight slickness on Visenna’s palm where she had sweat, the pressure of her thumb resting against the back of his, the warmth of her skin against his. He focused on that heat, and almost imagined that he could see it, even with his eyes closed. It was like a thin layer of pink and purple mist that moved from her hand to his and back again. 

Mousesack gasped. “What is that!?”

“Magic.” Visenna’s voice carried a laugh. 

“Magic,” he breathed in awe. The pink and purple mist actually looked – familiar, almost? Mousesack wished he could remember where from. “It’s beautiful.”

Visenna laughed aloud. “It is. But most importantly, it lets us heal by finding areas that are out of resonance. Then you push your magic into it to boost the body’s natural healing response. If you like, you can accompany me to my next patient and I can show you in practice.”

Mousesack opened his eyes with some reluctance, almost missing the pink and purple mist. “You would let me apprentice with you? Even though I know nothing about it?”

“Everyone must start somewhere. How can you know it if no one ever teaches you.” Visenna withdrew her hand and placed it on his shoulder. “Accompany me for the next season. I travel around the area, serving as healer to the different villages in the area. Learn the basics and see if you’re interested in more.”

He smiled widely. “Thank you. I would love that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Mousesack has no idea who Visenna is. She knows and is not saying.


End file.
